Bare with S.Vincent

No, it's not a nudey post...........yet. So, you can settle down for now. This is just a quick hit to say that I have been tinkering and learning about all the new stuff I can do with the blog. So in addition to the posts, keep checking back for a bunch of new stuff to appear on the right hand side. I am trying to add a video, a top 10 best posts list, adding some new favorite blogs/links, and possibly a music area. I am also trying to solve some of the spacing issues between all of these things (which is much too large somehow) If you check constantly like I do on other sites, you may see some crazy shit esé, like whacky text/pic sizes and missing info, but I will be playing with it on and off for the next 2 days or so, so hang in there sluggers. S.Vincent won't let you down.
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PS: Damn those nerds and their HTML!

The Designated Wiseman

Recently, Johnny Damon has taken over as the New York Yankees primary Designated Hitter. He replaced the Yankees long time DH Jason Giambi due to Jason's inury to his achilles tendon. Trying to get some tips on how to handle his new position, Johnny called the injured veteran to see if he had any advice. Luckily for Johnny, Jason was more than happy to help. The following is a dialogue of that conversation..........

Johnny Damon: Yooooo big guy, you got a few minutes to talk shop?

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Jason Giambi: Yeah sure, I got 15 minutes before I take my midnight duke-a-roo.

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JD: Perfect. I was wondering if you had any advice on how I do this DH thing. I feel a little out of my element, and you've been doing it forever, so I figured you know the job inside and out.

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JG: You bet your virgin ass I know it inside and out. True story: one time DH'd in hell. I hit Satan's curveball deep and he sent me back up here to play ball with you chumps. Anyway, what seems to be giving you the biggest problem?

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JD: It seems like I can't pick up the spin on the ball till my 3rd or fourth at-bat. I feel like I am always behind the pitcher.

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JG: I used to have that problem too till I actually started going to batting practice. But heres the key, you don't actually have to hit cause you don't want to get too tired before the game. Just stand on homeplate and have Farnsworth hit you in the chest with his 95mph fastball. Keep your eye on the ball to pick it up out of the pitchers hand and visualize swinging. Sometimes Farney doesn't hit me hard enough and I go out there and make him lick my bellybutton and call me "The real Big Papa", that Mary.

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JD: Uhh, I don't know if I will do that per se, but I will think about and definitly take more swings in BP than some of the other guys.

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JG: Whatever dude, different strokes for different blokes. That's just what works for me.

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JD: I Appreciate it. Now, what do you do when the team is on the field and you are on the bench? It's gotta be a little boring.

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JG: Oh man, there is so much to do if you put your mind to it. Practical jokes are my favorite. Sometimes, I pee in the gatorade cooler. You can call up the announcers in the booth and tell them their wives died. Or even go back into the clubhouse and hide one of Mussina's docksiders. There are sooooooo many jokes. Do me a favor will ya? Fill the insides of Hideki's batting gloves with super glue and when he puts them on say "Domo Arrogato Mr. Roboto" and do the robot dance. He'll know what that means.

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JD: Wow, thats a pretty funny joke. Wait a minute, was that you who replaced my after-shave with piss?

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JG: Uhhhh, no. That was ummmm, Melky I think, yeahhhhh.

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JD: You son of a bitch. I guess theres nothing I can do about it now, though. How do you handle the coaches when it's just you and them in there?

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JG: Well you wanna stick to talking to Donny Baseball. He's the man, hes got all these old war stories. Like having sex with a tiger and making half tiger-half Donny Baseball babies. One time, he challenged the Pope to a dual, but the Pope pussied out, so Donny made him wash his jocks for a month. He also has some great dirty jokes involving young children, I won't spoil it for you though, just ask him.

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JD: Okay, I guess that's must see entertainment. What about Joe though?

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JG: Don't talk to Joe, one time I asked him if he had a minute to talk and he yelled at me to sit down and shut up or he'd check my gym bag for drugs again. Then one time he thought I was looking at him funny, so he made me drink all the pee gatorade. He said if I didn't he would tell Steinbrenner I was the one who left a floater in his personal bathroom. He's loco dude, steer clear.

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JD: Sounds tense, I'll make sure I don't piss him off. Is there anything else I want to stay away from?

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JG: Oh yeah. Number 1, don't call for hookers from the bullpen phone. They can trace those calls. B) Don't make fun of the errors that the guys make in the field. None of them can take a joke at all. They are so uptight about their fielding. I dunno why, its not like it's a big deal. Lastly, you want to stay away from skid marks on the pinstripes when you take your mid game poop, I use A-Rod's towel and butt floss, works every time. Clean as a whistle.

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JD: Thats all good stuff J-man, I really appreciate it. I feel much better about going out there now.

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JG: Anything for a lady. I gotta go make a chocolate hamburger now. Catch you later

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JD: hahaha, you're gross.

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JG: Whatever, everybody poops, you're mommy told me so. Oh, and by the way; nice haircut....fag (click)

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End of conversation

This post written while listening to: The Beastie Boys "The Mix Up"

Mr. Quick, Part 3

They closed the deal on the store in a little over 2 months and Rick started the process of getting it ready for business. “Wham bam thank you ma’am” as Rick’s buddies used to say with an all too knowing chuckle. Mr. Knackers as it turned out was close to 65 and thinking of retiring “any day now”. Because Mr. Knackers had such a stately and business demeanor, the joke never even crossed Rick’s mind once the negotiations had begun. As half-assed as Rick could be about life in general, he got his whole ass in on getting this store. The unsuspecting business bug had bit him hard again, and even after all his let downs from the previous "Rick’s Tire Emporium", he was excited to try something new and different that seemed to fit his laid back style better. Mr. Knackers made him feel like a real businessman, and he started to act like one. Jokes could wait till after 5 o'clock.
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“Quick-In & Out” opened it doors on a stifling hot day in early September 2002. Rick chose the name under the pretenses that a bad name attracted attention just as easily as a good one. Plus, it had an unmistakable sexual undertone that tickled his largest customer base; teenagers and immature adults, to a pleasant shade of “pig skin pink.” Rick expanded the cooler section to include the largest selection of drinks in the small town including all large domestic beers and 10 different imports. He had a large selection of candy and ice cream and a soda fountain/slushee machine styled directly after 7-11 with cups so big you could easily bathe an infant in cool crisp Mountain Dew. Rick also carried a few household supermarket items, local products like jam, baked goods and produce. He even made a few home-made sandwiches that he kept simple and fresh. It was a corporate level convenience store with a few small town touches and it was even open 24 hours a day and had fair prices on gas.
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Business was great from the start which continued at a nice steady pace throughout the winter due to Rick’s great collection of hot beverages. He worked the 10PM-6AM night shift, so on his downtime, he often tinkered to find new coffee blends and preparation/serving method to cater the morning rush. He hired Cindy, an ex-mom whose final kids had gone off to college to work the 6AM -3PM shift, and Dave, a retired exterminator to work the 2PM – 10PM shift. This worked wonders for the next 4 years. As a sign of trust, he gave them an unlimited budget to take what they wanted off the shelves, knowing full well that they wouldn’t, and if they did get out of hand, Rick would know when to reign them in as he took care of all inventory and ordering. Rick knew he got lucky to find good small town people who did their jobs well, were friendly to the customers, and always showed up and on time. He covered their shift when they needed off and let them work their shifts under their own responsibility for the comings and goings of the store during that time. Discipline was a non-existent word in Rick’s vocabulary when it came to Cindy and Dave. Life was simple for them, work was pleasant, their boss was distant but caring trust-worthy. They loved their simple jobs, seeing their friends and family in the low stress atmosphere and got plenty of physical activity making sure the shelves were stocked and organizing the delivered goods. They had no reason to cause trouble for Rick, and it put a new hop in their "not so old yet!" steps.
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But neither of them ever worked the night shift.......

more to come.

Fear not, mortal

I'm not sure if anyone even likes the short little story I am writing cause I haven't gotten any feedback, but fear not, I will come back to it in the next post. I just needed a little break to write about other stuff for a minute or two. I am writing the short story cause I want to see what it is like and I wanted to do something a little different from most bloggers. If there is one thing that I have learned from this minor attempt at fiction writing is that writing it is really hard work. I am now 99% sure that I do not have the vast amount of creativity to ever write a "book". It really makes me respect someone with a published fiction book and absolutely marval at a person like Steven King who can crank out 1000 PAGES of material every year. Some people may think he is a hack who gets by on shoddy material and past brilliance, but I think the guy is a living legend who always performs. I would bet a lot of money your great great grand kids will be reading Steven King in high school english. Sure he is a twisted and strange nerd, probably not playing with a full deck but, the guy can create a honest something from thin air. This ability is why some of historys greatest authors are considered god's. (Is that a thunder cloud forming over PoVegas?) If I was an authority on books and got to bestow "status" to authors, thats what I would title the top level status. God's at the top, Hecules's in the middle, and mortals at the bottom. (side note: Sparks is too young with not enough material to be considered in any way yet, but I am baiting some floozy bimbo to attack me cause she loves "The Notebook". Other authors considered here were: JK Rowlings and probably Oprah)

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I spend a lot of time reading other people's blogs, and yeah shut up, I do have a life. Many of them I read consistently, and the authors probably don't even know it? I think a lot of reading blogs is a secret devotion to someone elses creative outlet, i.e stalking. People are very guarded about their personal creativity, but even more so I think, people are guarded about showing their appreciation for others creativity. Unless you're big time like The Superficial, Dave Barry, Perez Hilton, etc. there is a good chance you get maybe 1-3 comments; and they are from your close friends/relatives. But, there has to be more people out there who enjoy my crappola and other people's crappola. I have 600 sum odd profile views, about 100 of which are me checking to see how many profile views I have, but that isn't an accurate reflection of how many views my posts get per day. I would really like to know the size of my audience, and sometimes I think I would be more comfortable with a smaller than expected audience than a more than expected audience. So if you are out there in Internet Land with tape on your glasses and an Anime/WoW t-shirt on (computer nerd) and know an easy way (so easy a caveman could do it) to insert some kind of ticker on my blog, feel free to comment/e-mail me. Which, by the by, is a great way to expand your audience a little I have found. Comment on someone elses blog using your blogger ID and surely a few people will check you out. I make it a point to comment on at least one new blog I enjoy a month. Do unto others as you would have others do unto you, and all that jazz.

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You may be wondering where this sudden splurge of blog activity has come from. Well its due to the fact that my home boy Grzylle fo Shzylle, loyal fan of Forgetting his Brain, has new employment and no longer has the ability to chat with me on the Instant Messenger. He should be back soon however, but maybe he will take one for the team and chat with me every other day so I can get back to blogging full time. Either way, I enjoy my day and thats "le objectiva numero uno", which may even be real Spanish!

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This post written while listening to: Travis "Singles"

Mr. Quick, Part 2

The streets of Percy, population 12,463, were dark. Too dark. It seemed winter could even suck the life out of the street lights. Covered with the petrified snow of late February, they were struggling to cast their beams of direction towards the proper path, and looked wearied by the task. Richard sympathized with their struggle to keep their light lit. Once called “ReBar” or Ricky by his high school friends, he officially went by “Rick” somewhere in his senior year of college, when life seemed like it was dull for quite some time now. He supposed he should commemorate the change of life with something that was adult, but not the image of someone who was uptight or homosexual. Even now, he still wasn’t quite comfortable with it and life keeps losing its luster to Rick ever since his name went from two syllables to one. It doesn't even sound right when he says it out loud. But then again, his voice out loud always creeped him a little.
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Rte 18 was the main drag through Percy and had a number of shops, restaurants, a couple of fast food joints, and a K-Mart. The last gas station/convenience store before the 15 mile stretch to neighboring Tankersville had been out of business for a year or so, but there was a light on in the back tonight. Rick had driven by the old Hess station at night countless times, but he had never seen a light on since it went chapter 11. A small light from perhaps a storage closet in the back, which Rick could not see the source of from the road. Its back-lit candescent glow put the store’s interior in a unique display; like a motionless shadow puppet show. Rick coasted the Chevy and pulled into the parking lot.
“Perhaps there’s an empty shelf burgler in there,” Rick laughed to himself. “Wanted in 4 states in conjunction with empty desk assault and battery.” he continued on in his head. He didn’t get out of the truck, but pulled it up as close to the windows as he could, turned the high beams on, and ruined the macabre atmosphere in a purifying bath of General Motors electricity.
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Rick probably wouldn’t have thought of buying the place if he didn’t happen to park in front of the neon yellow realtors sign. “FOR SALE! Nicholas M. Knackers Realty 824-867-5309” it screamed behind the dusty glass. Like his own nickname, Rick wondered if his high school friends ever called him Nick Knack. He was sure they had to, unless they were the most oblivious people on the planet. Maybe Rick would call up and ask for Nick Knack tomorrow morning? Say he was an old chum from back in high school and how the hell are ya doin Nicky? Pick up any new little porcelain elephants lately? He he ha ha ho ho! When Rick started to think about how much a gas station would cost on this end of town and how it would probably do better if it was open 24 hours and had more selections to choose from, he decided that he should definitely give Mr. Knackers a call. Maybe sneak that elephant joke in after they get some of the business talk out of the way.

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more later........

Mr. Quick, Part 1

He enters almost silently. If it wasn't for the electronic entrance buzzer on the front door, Rick may never have heard him at all. It was the way he rolled his feet when he walked in his thin soled sneakers. The rythem of his movement forward with no hesitation as to where his next step was going to be placed. The man never stopped moving, only gently slowed his motion or sped it up. He moved like a rolling summer breeze but at 2AM on a Wednesday, a breeze can sound like a hurricane, and the motion detector sounds like a demon's steel nails on a paper thin blackboard. Draped in a black long trench coat, he has a jarring visual presence in this small quiet town, where everyone dresses down the middle except for the "artistic" teenagers waiting to break free from the mundane and "shallow water" of Percy, Massachusetts.

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Richard Barrington had bought the 24 hour convenience store after a weak attempt at the college in the next town, and a failed attempt at a girlfriend named Jessie and a "Rick's Tire Emporium". At the time, the idea seemed all too natural to him. Those days; Richard stayed up very late perusing awful TV, half-heartedly hacking at crossword puzzles, and trying not to think about the past that was haunting him at night after his day job as a low level manager at Midas Muffler.

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Haunting him when everything was quiet. So very quiet.

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The idea arrived on one of those cold March nights when winter has started to create a dynasty of frigid despair on your psychosis and the hope of a slightly warmer spring still seems so very far away. That night; Richard had found himself in a 1000 yard stare with the Ronco Rotissere informercial and thus, nearly ran out of his small house, slid into the seat of his Chevy Silverado and juiced up the V8 at slightly past 1:30 AM. He let it warm while he was thinking where his post-midnight "joy ride for the borderline depressed" would take him. Nothing had come to mind when what was once frost, was now steaming vapor on his windsheild. He put it in "R" and backed out onto Jessica Way (a horrible coincidence), pulled the shift into the pro-active "D" slot and proceeded to go wherever his right foot and hands took him into town.

....check back for more

Tell 'em Large Marge Sent cha!

It's been 16 years since Pee Wee Herman was arrested for not so public display of gross-ness. This isn't some plea to have him back on the air, because its been too long and we are all too used to the images of the old Pee Wee, and it wouldn't be fair to anyone to have a 2 times as old Pee Wee back on the air. It'd be like asking Paula Abdul to make more records. However, I would personally like to apologize Pee Wee for the country disowning him and continuing to embrace other celebrities which are even more hazzerdous to our children. The "fart in the mitten" group has been just as dangerous to our young people, and yet we still allow them to make records, tv shows, and breathe air. Drunk driving arrests, public drug use, foul language and attire, etc. The athletes in this country sanction dog fights, use steroids, hit their wives, and shoot guns outside night clubs. Rap artists get arrested for child pornography, sing about assualt and murder and getting wasted all night long. All of which are exposed to our children on a daily, if not hourly basis. But Pee Wee who was trying to have some fun on himself, by himself, is the one we kick outta Hollywood?

Have I written something like this about Pee Wee before? Or have I just thought about it before? I'm not sure, I'm often confused between the things I think and the things I've said. I blame my mother and old age, but either way, it should be said again. This is unfair that one of the few good parts of my childhood was taken away from me. Am I saying to restrict the access of people like bad athletes, musicians, and actors to our children? No; I have never been one to have a restrictive personality. That always has been and always should be a parents job. My position is, lets make sure we don't make this hastey mistake again. If we all thought about it a little bit more, I am sure that we would not treat Pee Wee this way a second time. Hopefully, his plight has taught us all a lesson about what is really damaging to our children and what isn't. Would you rather have your children practicing masturbation or assaulting people/taking serious drugs/drinking underage? Which of these is uncontrollable? I think we all know the answer.

Why do I love Pee Wee so much you ask? Well, Pee Wee was the one who taught me to look deeper into art. You see, Pee Wee used to make me uncomfortable. Probably what made him seem so damaging to the powers that be. He made weird faces, had a weird voice, had some disturbing images, intense situations. He gave me the creeps to tell you the truth, but I was convinced that I should watch anyway; I don't know why. Maybe it was because it was on TV, the same reasons people buy rotiseree machines and magic mops. Never the less, the more I watched, the more I enjoyed his subtle hints at doing the right thing. Mostly the lesson of accepting people for who they were, not who they were not. Something you couldn't pick up from just browsing the show. Like only listening to Radiohead one time through. Chairry, Randy, Cowboy Curtis were all different, but all welcome inside the playhouse. The most important thing was having fun, and having fun that wouldn't hurt anyones feelings. Being a good person who was true to himself and to his friends, that would always look for the good in people before looking at what was different.

Maybe Pee-Wee could teach todays society a lesson. I know I still need Pee-Wee's guidance as I often find myself judging people before I know them, looking poorly upon people whose values don't match my own (See above). Maybe you find yourself doing the same things as me? It's okay to admit that maybe you have been doing things wrong, and to look inside your feelings for what type of person you want to be. Maybe, you aren't doing as nicely as you thought you were? One thing you can be sure of, is no matter who you are and what you have done, as long as you want to have fun, be good, and treat people with respect; you're welcome inside the playhouse. That, and always ALWAYS, protect your bicycle.

"I'm just trying to illustrate that it's okay to be different—not that it's good, not that it's bad, but that it's all right. I'm trying to tell kids to have a good time and to encourage them to be creative and to question things" -Paul Ruebens